


The Pinned Butterfly

by Mayphoenix



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 13:23:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15074078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayphoenix/pseuds/Mayphoenix
Summary: Bruce Wayne is losing his mind since The Joker's escape from Arkham.





	The Pinned Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2008 for a Nolanverse Batman/Joker list on LJ, shortly after the release of "The Dark Knight." Years later, when "The Dark Knight Returns" would come out, not only had my description of Bruce withdrawing into himself come true, but there had been no mention at all of the Joker’s whereabouts when it was said that all prisoners of Arkham had been released. Nolan would later remark that they had just left him – alone – inside, but you cannot convince me that someone as devious and intelligent as The Joker would ever allow that. Sorry, but you can’t keep this clown in the box. 
> 
> This story was inspired by a specific prompt: "Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall." – _Measure for Measure_ (Act II, Scene I) 
> 
> RIP, Heath Ledger, who gave the greatest portrayal of my favorite DC villain.

The marquee lights at Gotham City Theater shone brightly despite the rather unexpected cancellation of the evening's scheduled performance of _Madame Butterfly_. A playing card stuck to the door with a knife bore the words "PRIVATE PERFORMANCE BY INVITATION ONLY" scrawled in red. Only one invitation had been sent out. It had arrived on Bruce Wayne's desk at Wayne Enterprises that morning, another playing card with the instructions to come to the theater tonight, 7pm. Both cards – the invite and the one pinned to the theater door – bore images of jesters. 

It came as no surprise to Bruce that the Joker had figured out his secret identity. Despite being a murdering psychopath, the Clown Prince of Crime possessed an amazing intellect, quick-thinking, always several steps ahead of the rest of the world. Bruce figured he had to be one hell of a chess player. With this latest development, he had just called "check" but there was still room to avoid losing the game altogether. As Batman, Bruce had to figure out how to do that, without the loss of any more lives. He arrived at the theater at the appointed time, to find the orchestra already seated in the pit, nervous and waiting. 

The Joker stood at center stage, tapping his feet and twirling the silver chain attached to his pinstriped trousers. In one gloved hand, he held a detonator. At the sound of the door opening, he brightened. "Now there's my Batman!" he said, his voice echoing through the otherwise empty auditorium. 

The last time Bruce had been to the theater, the Russian Ballet had been in town. That had been nearly eight months ago, during his last encounter with the Joker. As Batman, Bruce had apprehended the villain, leaving him to Commissioner Gordon's Major Crimes Unit, but somewhere on the way to Arkham Asylum the Joker had managed to give them the slip. Until now, there had been no word from him. "I'm here," the Batman growled, sweeping down the aisle toward the stage, his black cape billowing behind him. "Let these people go and we'll talk." 

"Let them go?" the Joker said, with an incredulous laugh. "Then who's gonna play the score? Hm? While I'm sure the actors currently waiting backstage are fully capable of singing a cappella, don't you think it'd be a little dry without Puccini's beautiful accompaniment?" He shook his head. "No…no, I think we'll just let them stay right where they are. Now, if you'll just take a seat –" 

"What do you want, Joker?" Batman interrupted, in no mood to play games. Months of knowing this criminal was out there, somewhere, had proved unsettling for him. Bruce had trouble sleeping. He had lost weight – despite his butler Alfred's valiant attempts to keep him well-fed – and had become surly and reclusive. In short, the line separating Batman from Bruce Wayne had become obscured, to the point where his two personalities had verged on becoming one very unpleasant entity.

"Is that any way to talk to the one who completes you?" Grinning, the Joker hopped down off the stage into the orchestra pit. He waded through the musicians, who flinched away from him in terror while clutching their instruments, and gave the conductor a friendly pat on the back – much to the other man's horror if the frightened look on his pale face was any indication. The Joker jumped the barrier separating the orchestra from the first row of seats and skipped right up to Batman. "This is a great opera. Are you familiar with it? It's about a man who takes this innocent flower as his bride, with every intention of abandoning her after he's had his way with her, only to return in three years with a new bride, which drives his first wife to kill herself out of heartbreak." 

"I know the story," Batman said. "Is this supposed to mean something to me, or is it just more of your insanity?"

His attempt at a dig only made the Joker cackle again. "You're so serious all the time! Look at you," the clown said, smirking. "You run around in your little disguise, like the duke in Shakespeare's _Measure for Measure_ , acting all virtuous and good, but in reality you're a far cry from being a saint. You know it. I know it." He flicked his tongue over his lips and his voice dropped an octave. "We sinners tend to recognize our own, a-haaa." 

"Shut up," Batman snapped. "You don't know me. You have no insight into my life, all you have are twisted fantasies conjured by your own sick, deluded mind."

"You wanna hear about my fantasies?" the Joker asked, leaning forward suddenly, his eyes gleaming like volcanic glass.

"No."

"I have this one," the Joker continued, unheeded, "where you're nailed to a cross – very Freudian, I know – and you're naked except for your little, ah, mask," he twirled a forefinger in the Batman's direction. "And the whole time, you're watching me masturbate – uhf!"

The crack of a black-gloved fist striking Joker's jaw brought an abrupt end to any further details. His head jerked back, setting off another round of high-pitched giggles. Blood formed at the corner of his grinning mouth as he bounced on his toes. "You love it when I talk dirty!" he growled lustily. "Admit it!"

The Dark Knight grabbed his nemesis by the collar and shook him threateningly. "I should cut your tongue out with one of your own knives," he snarled. "You'd live, but I have a feeling it would kill you not to be able to talk anymore!" 

The Joker arched his eyebrows in a moment of genuine surprise. Another wild giggle erupted from his disfigured lips. "You just made a funny!" he said with childlike glee. He shook his head admiringly and sighed. "Oh, Batsy... And here I thought I was going to have to break up with you for having no sense of humor." He clapped the armored shoulders with one hand, still holding the detonator in the other, his expression mock-serious. "Thank you, Batman. Thank you for restoring my faith in you." 

With another growl, Batman flung the clown into the nearest seat, drew back his fist and punched him in the face again, twice. The Joker reeled, momentarily dazed. Batman held him down. He glanced back at the orchestra. "Get out!" he roared at them. "Now!"

They did not hesitate to obey, some crying out in panic and some so afraid and desperate to leave they abandoned their instruments carelessly in their willingness to flee. Batman turned back to the Joker, who blinked and shook his head briskly to clear it. He still held onto the detonator but didn't push the button as his hostages clamored for the nearest exit. In a matter of moments, the two adversaries found themselves alone in the vast theater. 

"You are amazing." Blood bubbled on the Joker's lips as he clucked his tongue and sighed. "You always play right into my hands and do exactly what I expect you to do. Normally, that kind of predictability bores me…but with you, I find it somewhat endearing."

"What are you talking about?" Batman asked warily. With the Joker, there was no way of telling what he had in store next. Always ahead of the curve, as he once put it. Batman grabbed the smaller man by the lapels of his purple overcoat and hauled him up again. "Where are the explosives?" 

"Who says there are any?" the Joker replied, smiling as he let himself hang in the Batman's grip. He gazed up at the masked face, into the brown eyes that were reflections of his own but instead of glittering with mirth they burned with anger. "You really need to relax, Batsy. Stress is, as they say, the leading cause of stroke and heart attack." He tossed the useless detonator over his shoulder; it clattered to the floor a few rows away. He reached up to touch the exposed lower half of Batman’s face, ghosting gloved fingers across the stern set of his mouth. "Bruce," he said softly, and his use of the caped crusader's real name carried the same startling effect as an unexpected splash of ice-cold water. "I missed you so very much."

Caught off-guard by hearing the Joker say his name, confused as to why the clown had gone to all this trouble, the Dark Knight did not expect to feel those scarred and painted lips pressed against his. A second later, strong arms locked around his neck and a warm, wet tongue pushed into his mouth. He tasted blood, and cinnamon, and the edge of cigarette – probably the reason for those yellow-stained teeth, a detached part of his mind decided. For reasons he could not, and probably would never understand he found himself responding. Kissing the Joker. Pulling him closer, shifting his grasp as he crushed the deceptively slight body against his armored chest. One of his own gloved hands tangled in the stringy, green-tinted curls at the back of the Joker's neck, clutching tightly as his tongue drove its counterpart back and took control of the intimate invasion. He couldn't think. He didn't want to. All the months of sleep deprivation, obsessing over the Joker's whereabouts and doing little else had somehow coalesced into this.

When they separated at last, still clinging to each other but no longer kissing, their lips barely touching, the Joker let out a gentle laugh. "This is the part where you tell me you've caught me, and say that you're mine, for life…" His tongue darted out to the corner of his mouth and he raised his eyebrows. "End of Act I."

"This isn't a stage show," Batman rumbled, his own voice hushed by the overwhelming intensity of whatever this was, this energy passing between them. He stared into the Joker's kohl-ringed eyes, searching, trying to understand what had just transpired and why. But there were no answers to be found. Sometimes, there were no reasons, no explanations. Sometimes, things just happened. "But I have caught you. This time, I'm locking you away myself, for good."

"Hm," the Joker mused, "like sticking a butterfly on a pin so it won't fly away?" He ran his hand down the side of Batman's face, a loving caress of the mask. "Don't worry. I have no intention of ever leaving you, lover. You really are mine, and I'm yours. Forever." He grinned. “I can’t wait for our first conjugal visit.”

“Shut up,” Bruce growled. They kissed again, and he could almost hear the swell of music signaling the curtain's fall…but it was in his own head, drowning out all other rational thought. As what remained of his sanity abandoned him, he surrendered to the truth of the Joker's words, and his hunger for the madman's lips.


End file.
